Peata Beag A Dhaidí
by elleisforlovee
Summary: With the announcement of WW2 on the horizon, Sybil and Tom find that their eldest daughter has some unfavorable news of her own to share with them.
1. Neutrality

**Disclaimer****: **I cannot take credit for the inception of these characters. This plot and this version of them, however, is mine.

**A/N****:** This is my S/T Valentine Gift for **Mosteyn**. The prompt was that Sybil and Tom discover their (unmarried) daughter is pregnant. Mosteyn also mentioned WW2 period and I love that idea because I've never been given the opportunity to write Sybil and Tom during that time. It brings up a lot of really interesting facets that would be lacking if it were any other time with the Bransons in England. Ireland views women and the roles in the household a bit differently and that was also fun to play to. So basically I really enjoyed writing this and I hope everyone enjoyed reading it!

Now a bit of a gaeilge lesson before we continue:  
~Peata beag a Dhaidí (pronounced: patuh b-yug a-yadi) means "Her father's pet". It is the irish equivalent of "Daddy's little girl". You could say "cailin a Dhaidí" but that would sound sexual and weird so let's not.  
~Tá grá agam duit (pronounced: ta ga agamditch) means "I love you"  
~Tá brón orm (pronounced: ta bro-nerm) means "I am sorry"  
~Le do thoil (pronounced: lay duh hull) means "please"  
~Go leor (pronounced: ga-lore) means "enough"  
~Tá náire orm (pronounced: ta nareh or-um) means "I am ashamed"  
~Gabhaigí mo leithscéal (pronounced: go-hoyg mo leshkale ) means "I ask (you both) to pardon/excuse me"

Alright — longest author's note ever. Sorry about that!

Enjoy! x

* * *

The walk home from the hospital was not done joyously, and Sybil had yet to properly exhale all the stress of the day in the way she normally would after such a long shift. The heels she wore clicked into the pavement heavily, making it look as if she were more determined, more willful in what she was about to do. Normally, she'd walk rather slow, enjoying cool autumn days like this one where the trees that lined the street she lived on with her husband and their four children invited her home.

Tom, now working as Chief Editor for a local newspaper, found he was home earlier. With talk of war, it was not a luxury, but a matter of fact that he was now expected to take much of his work home with him. Late into the night, long after all of the children would go to bed, he'd be up, slaving over the typewriter Sybil bought him several Christmases ago with the bonus from her nurse's wage. Then, the gift was so new Tom practically cried at the sight of it, but now, it was heavy and already beginning to wear on the keys where Tom's fingers spent the most time piecing together days, weeks, and months into years as if they were patches on a quilt and he were no more than a seamstress. It was his stories that educated the public and kept them mentally warm, all the while leaving his fingers dry, calloused, and sometimes bleeding.

Sybil kept all of his articles, saying that the folder of clippings was a testament to how hard-working her husband was, and smart too. These were the things she'd whisper into his ear at night as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him off to bed with her, where he'd argue that the growing file was more of a statement on the time he was allowing to pass lately all without his permission. A war on horizon certainly seemed to bring everything into focus, reminding them both of how much had changed since they first met, and all they'd vow to one another should anything try to tear them apart.

The news Sybil brought with her on this day was inconvenient, and altogether unsettling. Although it certainly did not help that war was imminent, this was news that could shock any mother, at any time. And she dreaded now having to share it with her husband who she already knew was drowning in news of his own, the kind he'd share with the world while she kept theirs a secret.

"Tom?" She called out, her eyes trained up the stairs as she took off her scarf and shimmied out of her coat. "Tom?" It came again.

At the top of the stairs, her youngest son Aiden stopped, carrying in his hands a book as he looked down to his mother with a bemused look upon his face. "He's in your room changing. He got home from work late."

"Is supper on?"

"It's soup. Gran was over earlier. She helped Aine put it on when we first got home with Rian, why?"

"Can you do me a favor and watch it? And have your sister set the table while you do?"

Aiden's eyes narrowed, studying his mother and the way she now marched up the staircase toward him. "Mam?" he asked, the word suddenly seeming so proper. "Is everything alright?"

Sybil smiled sweetly, softening in the way mother's do when their children somehow find a way to be so kind and caring. "Yes, my boy," she practically sang as she reached forward to cup his cheeks. "I'm fine. Just a long day, that's all. Now!" she let out, her voice rising in pitch, "Please do as I ask because I am starved."

She turned on her heel and went to walk off down the hall toward the room she shared with Tom but was stopped. She pointed at Aiden again; this time it was her turn to ponder. "Have you done your homework yet?"

"No, I, uh…"

"Aiden, what did we say?"

"No homework, no rugby," he let out. "But how am I supposed to do my homework if I'm working on supper?"

"The same way the rest of your brothers and sisters manage. Do it when you get home and not when you hear my key in the lock, alright?"

He sighed. "Alright."

"Good," she smiled.

On the way down the hall, she passed the room her two daughters shared, where on the bed, Aine had already completed her homework and was now sketching. In her hand, she held a small piece of charcoal. She did not look up to her mother, and as her hand continued to move, smudging the blackness in a curve along the paper, she let out a simple: "Hi, mam!"

To which Sybil smiled, and tapped at her daughter's door frame. "Hello, darling," she managed in reply.

Finally, she reached her bedroom, and sighed as she reached out for the doorknob. Slowly, she pushed inside, and sighed as she saw her husband, still in his clothes from work, writing something at the desk by the window.

"Tom Branson, do you ever stop?"

He smiled and turned to his wife. "Do you? You're late."

Sybil squinted as if trying to remember an appointment or promise she had made with her husband. When none came, she sauntered over to him and leaned down to give him a long, slow kiss.

"Mmm," Tom moaned. "How was work?"

"Busy," Sybil admitted as she began to get out of her uniform.

"Tell me about it," Tom countered. "I was in Oireachtas today…"

Sybil looked to her husband. "Oh?"

"Should a war break out, they want to stay neutral."

"Do you think that'll hold?"

"For us it will, but for everyone else, I'm not as convinced." A pause. "How's your German?" Tom asked, causing Sybil to sputter out a laugh as she stepped out of her skirt and into a pair of slacks.

A silence settled over them as Tom watched his wife, now in trousers and a lace brassiere, walk to his side of the closet to grab for one of his shirts. Eventually, he turned around, returning his attention to the article he was working on while his wife's tiny hands began to clasp the buttons on his flannel shirt. Barefoot, and with her long hair now loose, Sybil stepped into Tom and wrapped her arms around him. Briefly her eyes glanced to the pages he had already typed before nibbling at his ear then mollifying the lobe with a few tender kisses. "Can we talk after dinner?"

Tom stopped typing and looked to her. "About?"

"I got news today that I need to share with you."

"Good news?" Sybil said nothing so Tom continued. "Bad news, then?"

"It's neither."

Tom sighed and turned back to his work. "Mhm," he accepted.

"I'm neutral," she said simply, her words entertaining the thoughts already in Tom's mind. "Like Ireland…"

Tom kissed the back of Sybil's hand in appreciation, vowing silently to keep the time after dinner reserved for her and her alone. In all of his quiet amusement, he did not have the heart to remind her that those who declare neutrality rarely remain as such; those who refuse to align themselves with the opinions of one side or another must make their intentions known eventually.

~!~

As it so often is the case, Sybil and Tom did not actually get a moment to themselves until it was nearly midnight. After dinner, they took their time clearing the table and washing dishes while the children sat out in the living room listening to a program on the radio.

Madeleine, Sybil and Tom's eldest daughter, arrived to dinner late. It being a Friday, she was due home from University where her parents allowed her to reside after earning a full scholarship. Specifically, Tom and Sybil insisted she go, unable to deny that they were proud to be sending off the first Branson grandchild to college, but even more so proud of the fact that said grandchild was a female, and their eldest. Now, with the news she was about to share with her husband, Sybil felt as if sending her away might not have been the best idea, but it was a better idea than the ones she was raised to believe — ones that told her that locking children away was the best way to protect them from the world.

With the house dressed in darkness and their bedroom door finally shut and locked, Tom grabbed Sybil by the waist and pulled her into him. "I know you wanted to chat, but I just want to let you know how stunning you look today…" he mumbled before lazily seizing her lips. Sloppily, the two remained like this, passing sensual kisses back and forth like secrets that needed sharing.

It took everything in her to finally pull away from Tom, especially as his hand began exploring the smooth, milky skin beneath the material of her shirt. "Tom…" Sybil tried. "Darling, I love you, but not tonight."

Immediately, Tom stopped. "Syb? You're not…" His voice trailed off as he calculated how many days it had been since her last cycle. Doing so, he answered his own question. "Sorry," he let out, turning away. "I guess I was misreading signals there…"

"No, love, I want to and we still can, but if I know you, and I do—"

"You do," he nodded, a small smile now appearing across both their faces.

Sybil continued. "You're not going to want to after I share my news with you."

"Are you okay?" he asked quickly. "Christ, Syb, you're scaring me now…"

"I'm fine."

"The children then?"

"Mostly fine," she said hurriedly.

Tom grimaced as he sat down. "Which one?"

Tight lipped, Sybil smirked and moved to sit beside her husband on the edge of their bed. "Your eldest," she revealed with a heavy sigh.

"Bad?"

"I don't know," Sybil shrugged. "I'm neutral, remember?"

"Sybil, all the time I have known you, you've never been neutral on anything, love…"

"I'm neutral on this because I don't know if it's true or not."

"Alright," Tom sighed. "Out with it."

"She may be pregnant."

"What?" Tom scoffed.

Hot tears began to pool, coating Sybil's lower lash line as she thought of the anger inside of her husband and the sadness that would soon exist within her if she had to watch him and their eldest daughter argue. "Please don't make me repeat it," she whispered.

Tom looked off and wiped at his upper lip, confirming what Sybil could feel radiating off of him: rage, mixed with just the slightest bit of disappointment and sorrow. "How do you know?"

"Another nurse told me. She works in that part of the hospital. She said Madeleine used a different name, but she was almost sure it was her…"

"Do you believe her?"

"Well, why would she lie?" Sybil yelled back. In hearing her tone, she shut her eyes and looked to the floor. "I'm sorry," she said, her apology coming just as quickly as her volume had. Already though, she was calm, finding that in her own moments of severe tension, Tom was able to take the opposite approach, balancing out the room with the love and understanding she was currently lacking.

"Have you asked her?"

"No," Sybil gave quickly. "I wanted to. I thought, you know, maybe it'd be a misunderstanding, something I could clear up and then laugh about with you before bed…"

"Well. There's no sense in waiting. Let's call her in here."

"Tom," Sybil tried. "Is that our best idea?"

"Do you have other suggestions? I don't know about you, Syb, but I certainly won't be able to sleep until I know the truth."

Sybil picked her head up and looked to Tom. "I'm afraid I won't be able to sleep either way."

Sybil looked away, her mind thinking of Ireland, this place she called home and how at one point it was such a foreign world to her. The women here acted differently, all of them finding a way to be wives and mothers and sisters with sweet smiles and tight lips while at the same time, beings completely capable of carrying their own, especially with the men in their lives that sometimes wished to restrict them.

She was lucky, she thought. Her husband was much more open to liberal ideas, ones that sometimes clashed with what the church told them each Sunday morning. Their children were brought up on these same principles, but Sybil and Tom always thought that to be honest with your children was the best way to combat ignorance. Now, she wasn't so sure, for it seemed that despite all her teachings some things just could not be helped.

Without any word, Sybil stood up and walked to the door. She turned the knob and listened to the indicative creak as she began to creep toward the room her daughter's shared. From outside, she could hear their chatter, and for two girls that rarely got along, Sybil found a smile gracing her cheeks, one that was quickly dismissed when she thought that her work would only act to eradicate it.

"Mads?" Sybil tried, her eyes now feasting on her daughters, both of them on their respective beds. The smiles they wore did fade, a sign that the gossip they were passing back and forth was childish and most likely of little importance if occurring so fleetingly.

Not wanting to alarm Aine, Sybil smiled. "Can we talk to you for a second?"

Madeleine's eyes turned cold as she began to nod. "Sure," she said hesitantly. The pillow she had been clutching in toward her stomach was set down as she stood up and began following her mother down the hall.

"Is everything alright?" she asked as she shut her bedroom door behind her.

Sybil said nothing and instead stopped and turned to her daughter. The hall they stood in was dark, with only a small lamp down at the end illuminating the portrait of each woman's face. Gently, Sybil reached out and touched her hands to Madeleine's shoulders. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Madeleine blinked. "I don't think so…"

"Alright," Sybil sighed. She detached from her daughter and moved to open the door to her own bedroom. "In you go."

Tom was right where Sybil had left him, with his knees spread wide and his body hunched over them, with elbows holding all of his weight as he stared at the pattern of the newly finished wood floors. He looked up, but did not smile in the way Sybil hoped he might. In fact, he did not soften or warm until Sybil was seated beside him, holding his hand in her lap.

"Should I sit?" Madeleine asked.

Tom looked to his daughter. "It's up to you."

"What's going—"

But Madeleine couldn't finish her question because her father had one of his own, one he found to be much more important. "Are you pregnant, Madeleine?" he asked honestly.

She could only nod. "I think so," she replied quietly, tears already coating her eyes.

Sybil tightened the grip she had on Tom's hand. "We didn't...we didn't know you were seeing anyone."

"His name is Jacob. He attends university with me. We go to mass together each week. His dad's a solicitor and his mum volunteers at the library on the weekends. They're from County Mayo..."

"Do you love him?" Tom asked. His question dripped with the same undertone his wife's previously had — if only these confirmations would somehow better the situation.

"No." A pause, and then: "But I might. Someday."

"Were you going to tell us?" Sybil asked, trying to stay calm for everyone's sake.

Madeleine quickly shook her head as her hand reached up to wipe at her nose. Harshly, she closed her eyes on several falling tears. "I wasn't going to tell anyone, not even Jacob…"

"That would have been a hard thing to keep from everyone…" her mother returned honestly.

"I was going to take care of it."

Tom's eyes narrowed and his mouth became pointed as he raised his head and began to calculate what his daughter could mean by that. "Excuse me?" he scoffed.

"I said I was going to take care of it, Papa!" Madeleine screamed as she clenched her fists and stomped her foot. As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes widened and she caught her breath, realizing what she had just done. Not only had she just admitted to her parents that she was with child, but she had done so loudly, and with the tongue of an adolescent.

Immediately, her eyes turned to the floor. "Gabhaigí mo leithscéal…" she whispered. The words, ones her father knew well, were melodic and familiar, but they failed at gaining the eldest Branson child reprieve in the way they once may have.

Sybil learned long ago that to use the native tongue was to raise a white flag. She had first heard it when she and Tom arrived at Mrs. Branson's doorstep many years ago. What Helen Branson would not understand in English, Tom did his best to explain to her in Gaeilge. It was not a difference in the knowledge of the language, but instead a vow given while speaking it, a reminder of who Tom was and who he'd always be. It was the same tactic Madeleine resorted to now, her words and the tongue in which they were spoken making a similar request for pardon.

In seeing the anger and disappointment seething within her husband, Sybil inhaled sharply and looked to her daughter. "Look at me, Madeleine." She obliged, her hazel eyes clashing with her mother's concerned grey orbs.

With eyes still closed, she said words a daughter should never utter in front of her parents. "Tá náire orm."

"You should be ashamed!" Tom gave quickly. "You are not married! You don't even have a boyfriend, Madeleine! How could you be so stupid? It makes me sick!"

"Tom!" Sybil tried.

"I said I was sorry!" Madeleine offered, her lips revealing agony as the knot in her throat only tightened. "I don't know what else you want from me, alright? This is why I didn't tell you! I am terrified, Papa! Terrified!" she repeated, this time with a fire in her eyes that caused her pupils to dilate. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I messed up, alright? I messed up and I'm stupid and I'm sorry that I've brought shame to this family…"

Sybil was brought to her feet, moving in the way the inexplicable way mother's do when protecting their family. "Go leor! Both of you!" she roared, knowing now as she spoke her own frustration that perhaps she was selfishly propelled; moving because she could not bear to hear either of them talk this way.

A quiet settled over the room. Every initial trepidation Sybil had was made clear as her blood pulsed heavily, making her whole body seem as if it were on fire. It was her turn to be angry and to show disappointment. For all they had worked for as a family, for all they knew themselves to be, both her husband and their eldest child were now at war, and she was left, feeling as helpless and even more so if forced to pick a side.

"Sit down, Madeleine!" Sybil instructed with her hand pointed sharply toward the small arm chair by the window. As her daughter moved, so did she, walking back to the edge of the bed to sit beside her husband, and just like before, she latched herself onto him, her small hands immediately seeking the girth of his upper arm for support. She was not on his side, at least not yet, but they were most definitely in this together.

She sighed. "Does Jacob know?"

"No," Madeleine whispered. "I already said, I was going to take care of it."

Sybil closed her eyes and tried again. "Madeleine, that's not an option…"

"You always said, mum, that my body is mine and mine alone. What I do to it is my business."

Tom snapped his head toward his wife. With arms still stiffly crossed over his chest, he blinked. "What did you tell our daughter?" he scoffed. "Are you telling them all this?"

Sybil dismissed her husband and turned her attention back to her eldest daughter. "I told you something else when we went through all of that. The stipulation you seem to be forgetting is 'as long as you're safe'," she reminded rather curtly.

"We were safe. Or, he said he was…" her voice trailed off as she let out a loud sob, one that propelled her head down into the palms of her hands as she continued to cry. "I thought...oh, god! I don't know! Maybe he didn't…It was one time!"

Tom looked to Sybil, his face red with fury, but also looking somewhat concerned. She blinked, and he followed, both of them wishing they had the words to mollify a situation that seemed far beyond their own control.

"I cannot tell you what to do, Mads. If you were to have a child, you know how they'd treat you. Girls like you do not have children before marriage. Would you like to marry him?"

"I've honestly never thought about it."

"Then what? An abortion? In this country?" The serenity previously present in Tom's voice was gone now, replaced by something that sounded almost like disbelief. "That's not an option. They'd kill you…"

"There's a place—"

"An unsafe place," Sybil corrected. "Your father's right. Most of the time, the mother is dead before they even have a chance to stop the child's heartbeat and then the child dies slowly inside of its mother...it's a disgusting process…"

"I'm only a month along. Maybe I could go live with Cousin Rose in America!" she tried.

"I'm not sending you to America by yourself to have this child, Madeleine."

Tom looked to Sybil. "Why not? That might be our best option…"

"Will Jacob go with you?" Sybil asked, throwing the question back to her daughter.

"Probably not. He wants to enlist…"

"Jesus Christ!" Tom let out. "Did you hear that, Syb? He wants to enlist."

"Tom, le do thoil…" _Please, _she said harshly, her teeth practically gritting together in an attempt to calm her husband down. This was all happening too fast, and it did not help that her husband and daughter insisted on switching roles, him resorting to that of a child while she played at being an adult.

"Alright," Sybil sighed. "I'm going to ask you something my parents never once asked me." Madeleine looked up at her mother, willing the words to fall. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know!" Madeleine sobbed out. "I'm sorry! I feel very, very stupid, alright? I didn't know what I was doing and it all happened so fast and I wasn't ready—"

Tom raised his head. "Did he force himself on you, Mads?"

"No, never! He's a sweet boy, really. And beyond all of that, a really good friend. I just...I'm not ready for a child!" she sobbed out. "I want to go to school and travel and do all of these things I should be able to do at nineteen!" She was still crying now, and with every heave of her body, her face became more pink and the tears continued to flow. "I'm sorry I disappointed you. I thought, you know, this was my mistake and I'd take care of it. But I'm really scared. I don't know how to fix this one and…"

Sybil looked to Tom and almost began to cry. Unfortunately, neither had the answers, nor the words in the moment to comfort their daughter's fears. Hoping something would come to her, she once again squeezed Tom's hand, but as she went to speak, she was cut off by her husband, his voice failing to waiver.

"We all make mistakes, Madeleine…"

"Tá brón orm…" she whispered again, her eyes not daring to meet his.

Sybil nodded, knowing that the words Tom gave Madeleine were in her benefit. "I...I know you are, darling." She sighed. "This is not going to be easy, Mads. Whatever you do, this entire town is going to judge you for it. If you disappear, they'll want to know why. If you have this child and give it up for adoption, you'll be cast off. You won't be allowed in church. You may be kicked out of school. We can't control those things. But if I were you, you need to think long and hard about what's best for you. You need to talk to Jacob. If he goes off to war, there's no guarantee he's coming back…"

There were tears in Madeleine's eyes and she nodded, causing one to cascade down toward the bridge of her nose. "Just know that you're not alone and you never will be. We all love you very, very much."

"I know," she nodded.

"I just wish you would have told me," Sybil stressed, interrupting the silence completely. "I thought that your father and I worked to build a relationship with you where if you ever were in trouble, you could come talk to us."

"I kind of just hoped it would disappear. I know it's awful, but with finals coming up, I thought maybe the stress would make me miscarry, or maybe I'd find out it was a mistake at the hospital…"

"Oh, Madeleine, please don't say those things…" Sybil let out, now moving to wipe under her eyes.

"Mam, don't cry, this is my fault."

"It's that boy Jacob's fault as well, I'll have you know…" Tom interjected as he reached out to comfort Sybil once more.

Sybil rolled her eyes and looked back to their daughter. After a heavy exhale, she continued. "But it's not your fault. Because sex is natural and it happens and I don't want this to ruin it for you because when done safely and with the right person, it's the best thing in the world…"

"So you're not mad?"

"Madeleine, I am furious," Sybil emphasized with pursed lips, her words so biting they might as well have been spoken by Tom. "But being angry and getting mad and throwing a chair out the window in the way I'd like is not going to solve this. I can be angry all I'd like, but that won't make the child growing inside of you disappear."

Then: "Papa?"

Tom looked up from where he had just pressed a kiss to Sybil's hairline. "I don't have much to say to you right now…"

"Tá grá agam duit?" she tried, posing her love to her father like a question as if to ask him: _do you still love me? _She was not going to make the same mistake again of forcing her love on someone who clearly had no need for it.

Tom looked away. "Go to bed, Madeleine. We'll talk in the morning."

The room was silent, and as Madeleine opened the door to leave, all occupants inside were a bit shocked to find that the hallway and the rest of the house was still dark and very much asleep. They were sure that come the morning, everyone would know. Unlike at Downton, secrets in this home were not secrets for very long.

Slowly, Sybil and Tom dressed for bed, and finally, when the lamps were turned off and both were beneath the covers, Sybil curled into Tom and held onto her husband as she wept into his neck. All of the pain of that day, of the burden of children that mother's bear so long after giving birth, was taken off of her shoulders and shared with Tom. In return, the limitless compassion and strength he wished to share with his daughter was instead reserved for this moment, a moment he knew would eventually come when Sybil could no longer claim neutrality.

"That could have been us, Tom. We took that risk once. We made love long before we were married. We didn't even make it to Ireland before I was in your bed. Why her?" she sobbed out. "Why Madeleine? When she has worked so hard and accomplished so much?"

"I don't know, my darling," he said again as he smoothed back her hair and continued to kiss the crown of her head. "I really don't know."

* * *

So! Question. In receiving this prompt and then writing it, I quickly realized there's a lot that could be done here. What is Madeline going to do and how will everyone react? IF anyone wanted, I'd love to hear everyone's opinion. Sybil, Tom, and Madeleine herself all laid out the options pretty clearly. What do you think is the best one? I have my own opinions but I'd love to know what you as the readers think. And I'd really love to take those opinions and expand upon this story, making it much more than a one-shot…

Let me know what you think! :]

x. Elle


	2. A Different Kind of Declaration

**A/N****:** I'm honored that the response to this was so positive. And many of you had interesting ideas for what Madeleine could do, though I have to say, I was amused to see most of you at a loss. This chapter is just another taste of the problems that lie ahead for the Branson family…

Short gaeilge lesson of the day:  
~The prayer recited below will be familiar to Catholics. This is your typical "Bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, Our Lord. Amen." pre-mealtime prayer.

I don't think I used any other Irish words in this, so you should be all set.

Enjoy! x

* * *

Sybil awoke, finding that the sun had not yet risen and Tom was still beside her in bed, blinking up at the ceiling much in the way she was now. Slowly, she rolled over, clasping her hands under her head as if to pray. She smiled, but he did not move, and it was this that had her reaching out for him, her small hand, still warmed from sleep, touching the stubble on his cheek.

"How long have you been up?" she asked softly.

He looked to her and shrugged, pushing his pillow up and away from his shoulders. "A while. I didn't want to wake you…"

"I'm awake now. Do you want breakfast? It's Saturday. I don't have to do much today. We're having that stew tonight at your mother's and—"

"How are you so calm?" Tom interrupted, his voice harsh.

Sybil sighed. "Because you're not. Because one of us has to be."

"Do we though?" he asked honestly. "Do we have to be calm? We don't owe her anything, Sybil."

"She is our daughter, Tom. I won't speak for you, but I owe it to her to not abandon her."

"Why though? When she's abandoned her values? Her religion? Soon she'll bring shame onto this family. That's hardly fair to the rest of them."

Sybil shut her eyes, willing it all to go away. When she opened them again, everything was as she left it, with her husband still tight-lipped, his hands fisting the quilt that covered them in attempt to relieve some of the stress he was experiencing. "As I said last night, Tom, I can get angry but it's not going to solve this. She'll still be pregnant. This boy will still be someone we don't know. If I am calm I can at least look at this with an open mind."

"There is no open mind to be had, Sybil! Do you know what happened the last time a girl in this town got pregnant before marriage?"

"Well, no, I…"

"I don't either!" he snapped. "The rumors spread and before she was even showing she was sent away. Nobody knows what happened to her and if you mention her name, they act as if she doesn't exist. Her own parents don't even claim to know her. They pretend they have five children, instead of six."

Something in Tom's words propelled Sybil upward. No longer could she face him and conveniently, it was easier not to as she toed at her slippers to put them on her feet. Bringing herself to stand, she also walked to the chair by the window, the same one Madeleine sat upon the night before. There, she grabbed for her soft cotton robe and wrapped it around her body, causing the nightgown underneath to pucker at her waist as the material began to provide her with the same warmth their bed previously had.

"I have four children, Tom, and I will always have four children. No matter what happens. I understand that you are upset and I am upset too, but there's no use in us being on opposite sides here. You and I are a team. You know it and I know it that we work best together. We always have. So we need to meet on common ground and that means both of us compromising. I won't be mad and disappointed at both my daughter and husband. There's no logic in it."

"Now," she continued, "I'm going to make breakfast for my family. I'd like nothing more than for you to join us, but if you want to be my fifth child and sulk in bed all day, then that is your choice, I suppose…"

"Syb…" Tom let out quickly. Much more slowly than she had, he found himself sitting up and pulling his knees into himself to give his arms a place to rest. No other words came though, and Sybil did not stop or even slow down to afford them more time.

Swiftly, she left the room, closing their bedroom door behind her as she traveled down the hallway toward the kitchen. Inside, she lit a lamp, knowing the lighting the house had recently been wired to accommodate was still not strong enough to illuminate a room before the sun had the chance to.

"Ma?" she heard, causing her to look toward the table where her eldest son Rian sat reading a book. He too had a lamp lit, but for different reasons. It was his intention not to wake the rest of the house when he couldn't sleep and as he usually did, he came into the kitchen to read. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, why wouldn't it be?"

Rian side-eyed his mother, his lips moving more slowly than usual. "Something feels off…"

Sybil sighed and turned around. "Nothing's off. It's in your head. You think too much." Then: "What are you reading?"

Rian folded the book back to glance at the cover, as if failing to do so would result in him not being able to give the title or author to his mother. "Orwell's newest."

"Oh," Sybil said lightly as she moved to the icebox to collect a few desired food items. "Did you purchase that?"

"No, Mr. O'Connor is letting me loan it. I told him I'd work a few extra hours free of charge until I could get it back to him."

"Alright, well you better follow through," Sybil warned. "You have rugby everyday after school and all of those exams coming up. Don't forget about the big picture. It's important that you get into university. But have fun."

"Which is it, mam? Get into university or have fun?"

"Both," Sybil said simply.

"Okay." He paused and looked up again. "Is it dad? Are you and dad okay?"

Sybil turned away from the skillet with a wooden spoon in her hand and her eyebrows raised high. "What?"

"Is it dad?" Rian said again. "Is that what has upset you?"

"No, darling, your father and I are great. Stop it."

"Well why isn't he out here helping you with breakfast or—"

Tom entered, not only dressed but clean-shaved as well and with freshly brushed teeth. Upon seeing her husband, Sybil smiled, and the gesture only intensified as he leaned in to kiss her lips. Rian returned to his book, feeling nothing at seeing his parent's openly share affection. In fact, for the better part of his life he thought this was how all married couples were. It wasn't until a couple years ago, after spending time at his girlfriend Ciara's house that he realized most couples, even those who loved each other very much, did not act the way his mother and father did. Specifically, they talked to one another differently, and now, as he watched them move about the too-tiny kitchen, he saw the way they were never parted for long with even his father's hand reaching out for his mother's back as he moved to brush by her.

"What are you reading?" Tom asked. Behind him, Aiden and Aine entered, both taking seats at the table after Aine first ensured Sybil didn't need any help at the stove.

"Orwell."

"Oh," Tom nodded as he leaned back into the sink as he sipped at his tea. "Any good?"

"I've only read the first couple of chapters. It's getting there."

"Well, he's English Ri, they're not really known for being epigrammatic…"

"Tom!" Sybil reprimanded.

"Sorry love," was all he offered in return as their children giggled and he pressed a sincere kiss to his wife's temple. Even she would agree that their children were Irish and while she'd never deny or openly neglect her English roots, even she didn't feel that connected to Yorkshire anymore. This was her home: Ireland, Dublin, this small townhome on the North side of the city.

The meal was nearly ready when Madeleine finally emerged from her bedroom. Like Tom, she was also fully dressed, with her hair freshly curled and the gold locket her grandparent's had purchased for her as a confirmation gift hanging around her neck. She acted as if she was right on time as she stepped into the space behind her younger sister, grabbing for plates and then silverware to pass off and be placed atop the table.

"Morning," she said simply when the table was set. Then she sat down, ignoring the way her brothers and sister all gawked at her, especially as their father paid her no attention, the latter bit of knowledge being the most glaring.

"Is everything alright?" Aine asked quickly as she sat down. Instantly, her hands were tightly clasped in her lap and she stared down at them, much in the same way she would have if she were just returning from receiving the Eucharist at church. She said, or did, what she needed to, and she now accepted the silence that would ultimately follow.

"No," Rian said firmly. He didn't know, but he also wasn't willing to accept the answer his mother gave him, and from the moment he woke early that morning, right when his own parents were finally finding slumber, he could tell how off kilter the whole house was.

"What's going on? Who's dead?" Aiden asked.

"Nobody's dead," Sybil said with a sigh as she stepped in toward her family, carrying with her the last plate of food for their morning meal.

"Who's dying then?" Aiden resolved. "Is it you, mum? Dad?"

"Aiden, nobody's dead or dying. Stop it," Tom said stiffly and with eyes that didn't even look up to his son. Instead, he held his knife and fork in his hands, resting both against the end of the table as he stared down at his plate which was still empty. "It looks great, love," he said, finally looking up, removing his gaze from the various platters of food set out across the table. He was trying, and as Sybil sat down next to her husband she reached out to touch his hand, a smile of her own gracing her features.

There was no nod toward the food or change in tone, but all of the Branson family members made the sign of the cross and then clasped their hands flat in front of their lips as they simultaneously began to share a prayer before their meal.

_Beannaigh sinn, a Thiarna,  
__agus na bronntanais seo uait,  
__a bhfuilimid le glacadh  
__ó do rath, trí Chríost ár dTiarna.  
__Amen._

"Amen," Sybil whispered, echoing the sentiment. The once daunting task of delaying a meal to give thanks was now something Sybil cherished. She enjoyed the way she and her husband could sit with all of their children and be still for a moment before plates were passed as everyone struck up conversation.

"Mads, how's school?" Rian asked, thinking it was a good place to begin.

She swallowed at her oatmeal and dabbed at her lips with the napkin in her lap. "Good. It's fine, you know...only just started," she said simply. "How about you?"

"Well, you know St. Mary's, not much has changed since you left."

"Nothing ever changes at St. Mary's," Tom commented, earning smirks from everyone, even Sybil who loved hearing that before he had come to meet her, he had completed a lot of schooling, now the same place their children attended.

"Oh!" Sybil let out. "Aunt Mary sent us photographs in the post."

Tom sipped at his tea. "Of?"

Seeing his cup, and Aine's were almost empty, Sybil stood to grab for the kettle. As she poured them more tea, she spoke. "The cricket match."

Pushing at his sausage, Rian laughed. "Had to get one more hoorah in before their countries shot to shit, huh?"

"Rian, please…" Sybil tried.

"Well it's true!"

"It doesn't matter, Ri, you have family there," Tom warned with icy eyes. It was these that wiped the smirk off his eldest son's face as the rest of the children just watched, learning. "It may seem silly to you and I'd have to say that I agree. But we do not wish any harm on anyone. War is not something to laugh and joke about. Especially when it puts some people who have been nothing but good to you in harms way."

"But Downton will be fine, right Dad? I mean, they're not going to bomb some arbitrary village in North Yorkshire, right?" Aiden asked.

Tom looked to Sybil, then back to his children. "They might. Who knows. Poland has only just been attacked. I hope Britain wouldn't jump right into this, but they have before."

"They will."

Everyone looked to Sybil, her lips pursed as she stared down at her plate. "I mean, of course they will. How could they not? If they don't, Germany will try to invade anyway."

Without warning, Madeleine let out a loud sob before dropping her head down into her hands to cry. Her shoulders heaved as the tears continued to fall, bringing with them, fear-stricken looks from her siblings and more soft, calculated glances from her mother and father. Not yet on Rian's level, Aiden looked to his parents for clarification. Though Aine, his twin, lacked that same maturity, she found it easier to reach out for her sister's back and just leave her hand there for comfort.

"Maddie, you okay?" Sybil asked, feeling already the way that Tom stiffened at her daughter's actions and noises, becoming numb to it all. The other option was to give in and he certainly wasn't ready for that. She was his little girl, and he imagined that she always would be. But this was a decision she made, and he couldn't erase it for her no matter what he tried.

"Fine," she choked out. "Can I be excused?"

"Alright," Tom said flatly. "Go," came next, sounding much more like an order.

Shuffling to her feet, she threw down her napkin and ran off toward her room. Aine sighed, dropping her head down into her hands. "Can she go back to school, already? I know it's a long holiday, but I can never even go in my room when she's home…"

"Aine, I know, darling, but—"

"I'm sorry," she tried instead. "I'm happy to have her home. I'm happy when my family is together. I'm happy to go to mass tomorrow." Her words sounds rehearsed, and for as much as Sybil and Tom tried to teach these things to their children, to get them to realize how lucky they were to live the way they did constantly surrounded by so much love, they never wanted them to be forced to feel that way. Really, they thought that by working hard and providing for their children, it would be enough. They were discovering, all too soon, that sometimes life had other plans.

~!~

On Sunday, for the first time since arriving back to Dublin so many years ago, Tom did not attend mass with his family. Instead, he sat in the bedroom he shared with Sybil, his head resting against his hand as he listened to a radio broadcaster nervously dole out information related to the war. His words came sporadically, some fast, others more syncopated, as if he were reading off a teleprompter, or more likely, he was reading the news as it was handed directly to him in hasty bursts on crumpled white notepad paper.

Behind him, the door opened, and Sybil walked to her husband after shaking off her jacket. "Everyone noticed that you were not there this morning, Tom. I have never seen such white knuckles while everyone held their rosaries. You've scared half the town…"

"They should be scared," he admitted honestly as he turned to face her. He gripped the chair as he took her in. She was always stunning, but on Sunday mornings with her hair curled and her wearing jewelry and even a bit of makeup, she demanded more attention, and Tom was always willing to reciprocate, finding that the time before they headed to his sister's for brunch was time enough to make love or at least manage several stolen kisses.

Sybil sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed closest to him. "You think?"

"Any minute, Syb. They're in the middle of negotiations but I can't see how it'll swing any other way…"

"But we're neutral, right? I mean, that hasn't changed. They won't send our boys off or bomb our land."

Tom wanted to smile or kiss her nose in appreciation of his home being his, just as it had been for so long now. Instead, he took the more sensible option, replying with another bit of truth. "There are no neutral parties in war, love. Everyone's affected. And just because we begin as a neutral party, doesn't mean that's how we'll finish. Some of the good ol' boys are looking to aid Germany because it'll irritate Britain. It's a feckin' mess."

Again, Sybil sighed, this time shutting her eyes as she calculated her next move. It brought her to her husband, where her hands immediately sought out the tense muscles in his shoulders before moving up to cup his face. "I know how hard all of this is for you and I just want you to know that everything will be fine."

"Will it?" Tom asked, as if to tease. He wanted to believe her, but he knew just as well as she did, that sometimes belief did not do much to alter a situation.

"I want it to be. I hope it will be."

"Are we talking about the war or Madeleine?" Tom asked honestly.

Sybil detached from her husband and pressed a hand to her forehead as she began to think. "Well," she said, "It's nice to hear you say her name."

"How was she?"

"She cried in mass."

"Jesus Christ. Your hormones were never that bad."

"I don't think it's hormones, Tom. She's stressed. She's heartbroken. For once in her life she doesn't have a single thought she wants to share. This is all eating at her. And I try to get her to talk. I try to see what she wants, but she won't open up to me. I'm at a loss and—"

"What can I do?"

"I don't know," Sybil dismissed. "I mean, thank you, I appreciate that, but I don't like any of our options."

"What about the boy?"

"She won't tell me anything. I've tried getting little bits of information. You know, how did they meet? Have they been friends for a long time? What are his intentions? Does he know?"

"Does he know?" Tom requested.

Sybil shook her head. "No. I told her I'd help her craft a letter, but she wants to tell him in person."

"You know, I'd like to talk to him—"

"Tom…" Sybil warned.

He did not waiver. "I'd like to talk to him but I don't know if that's proper with his parents not around and I doubt they'd come into Dublin for bad news. I can't invite people I don't know into my home under the guise of dinner. They're not even dating. What if they don't even know who Madeleine is? How embarrassing will that be?"

Sybil couldn't help but smile. "I see you've put some thought into this."

"It's all I've been thinking about. That and this war and the fact that I have a wife and three other children and so quickly my life has become this thing I feel I don't have control over anymore."

"Oh, Tom…" She went to him. Without permission, for she certainly needed none, she sat on his lap and held his face in her hands, comforting him in the best way she knew how. Her husband was strong, the strongest man she knew, but even strong men had their weak spots and family would always be Tom's. She saw it when he nearly cried explaining to her that his cousin was shot dead in the streets when he was just a boy, and then later when his own misfortune forced them to reside at Downton for nearly three whole years.

"What do we do, Syb?"

"Well you need to breathe. Accept that you cannot fix everyone and everything. If a war comes, then so be it. We've been through worse. And at the end of the day, these choices are Madeleine's to make."

"Alright, well what do you think we should do?"

"I don't think it'd be a bad idea to have him over for supper. But I think Madeleine needs to tell him beforehand. It's going to be difficult for her, but that'll only get harder."

"Christ…" Tom let out as he moved to run a distressed hand through his hair. "Why couldn't she have been more careful? Why…"

"I think she loves him, Tom…"

"This boy we've never met? She loves him? Then she should marry him. Problem solved!"

"And if he doesn't love her?"

"Then I'll fecking murder him."

"Tom…" Sybil tried again.

"Maybe they'll grow to love one another. That's how marriages used to be done, right? I mean, if I hadn't saved you, that's how you would have been married."

Sybil kinked her brow. "Let's make this clear right now. You did not save me. I did not need to be saved. I left because I loved you and wanted to create a new life with you somewhere that wasn't Downton. If anyone did any saving, it was me."

Tom smirked. He was constantly teasing her, only because he loved how witty she was in response. "You're right. Now, I can only pray that Madeleine has that strength in her blood…"

The two leaned in to share a simple kiss but were interrupted by the radio broadcast that continued to drone on behind them. Like before, the signal was shoddy, producing segments of white noise similar to that created each time the newscaster let out a heavy sigh. This time, with it, the news that Britain had just declared war on Germany.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated! :]

x. Elle


	3. The Emergency

**A/N****:** Thank you to those of you who have read, reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. It's nice to meet some of you who have period based stories as a reading preference. It's also nice to be back writing more canon work. Thanks for letting me share, and thank you to those of you who have taken the time to review. I really appreciate it.

Gaeilge:  
~_Tá sé a gasú! Tá siad leanaí_ = "He is a boy! They are children!"

Enjoy! x

* * *

"You're what?"

"I'm pregnant."

This wasn't the news Jacob expected to hear when he was invited to Madeleine Branson's house for dinner. In fact, he didn't know what to expect, but such truths never even crossed his mind as even being an option. He thought that with the war beginning, Madeleine's parents were perhaps being more welcoming to the friends she had at school. After all, they were friends; Jacob liked Madeleine very much, but he wasn't in love with her and he certainly wasn't ready to be a father.

"Madeleine," Jacob let out, "I don't understand."

"Do I need to spell it out for you?"

"Alright," he sighed, as he moved to step into her, both his arms moving up to caress her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"Well that's not good enough! You said you were safe. I thought you—"

"I did!" he insisted. "Both times…"

"Oh god," Madeleine said, dropping her head down into her hands so she could conceal the inevitable sadness that overtook her body, specifically her eyes. "Do not mention that to anyone! It's enough that we're not dating. I get that I was the stupid one and that I allowed all of this without any commitment from you, but I thought...I _never_ thought this would happen."

"Mads, I'm sorry—"

"Don't, alright?" she snapped, still crying. "Please, just stop."

"C'mon, we were having fun, right?

"Well my life hasn't been fun since, okay? I am mortified and sick and I can't stop crying and I'm just so frustrated...I want to die Jake! Do you know what that's like?"

"Mads, you need to breathe. I don't know what to do, okay? I really am sorry. We were safe, but maybe…"

"I was so stupid, Jake. So, so stupid."

"I mean, I was there too, right? Please don't beat yourself up over this."

"How can I not?" Madeleine gave back, her eyes swollen as she continued to sob. Her shoulders heaved, turning her chest and neck pink as she did her best to maintain steady breathing — for her and her unborn child.

"Okay, then what do we do?"

"Not we, me! And I don't know…"

"Do your parents know?"

"Yes," she said simply. She then looked to him. "I understand if you don't want to tell yours. But this isn't going to go away. They'll have to find out sooner or later."

"Can we sit down?" Jacob asked, his hand motioning toward her bed. It only hit him then that they were in her childhood bedroom, that of which was decorated much like the dormitory she shared at UCD with three other girls. Her family was just down the hall: her mother, who Jacob always knew to be so beautiful, making dinner with the help of Madeleine's younger sister Aine. The boys, he imagined, were in the living room listening to the radio just as most families found themselves doing too much lately.

Madeleine sighed and pointed to the chair near the desk by the window. "There," she said hastily. "You can sit there. I'm surprised my father is even letting you in here. I wouldn't want him seeing you sitting on my bed."

"Well, not much harm can be done at this point, right?" Jacob said, trying to make a joke.

Again though, Madeleine dropped her head down into her hands and began to cry. Heavy, breathless sobs were pushed past her lips which collected the moisture from her falling tears. She wanted to disappear, to become so small she might as well be invisible.

"Okay, Mads, I'm sorry. That was a dumb joke, alright? I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. Help me out here…"

"Well first off, please stop calling me Mads!"

Jacob's forehead kinked in confusion. "But...but I always call you Mads. We're friends. We have been since last year. You said you liked it when I called you Mads…"

Madeleine picked her head up, revealing the same red, swollen eyes that now bulged with anger. "Well don't! We're not friends now, Jake! We're not! We can't be! I am having your child."

"Isn't this a good time to remain friends?" he asked honestly, not knowing the way his words would continue to enrage her.

Defeated, he sighed. "Well is that it then? You're going to have it."

"Do I have any other options?" she choked out.

Jacob shrugged, his mouth moving slowly as he tried to comprehend it all. "I don't know. Do you? Aren't there procedures…"

"My mam and dad won't let me."

"Is that their decision?"

"It is when it's the smart one." Calming down, Madeleine sighed and straightened her posture. "I know you think it's weird that I'm so close with my parents. But you and I are not married. You don't even like me like that…" Her voice trailed off, or rather, caught in her throat as Jacob sighed at hearing that admission. Despite her sadness, she allowed her neck to stiffen and her voice to brighten as she continued delivering her plan. "Do you still want to enlist?"

"Part of me does, yeah."

"Well then this really doesn't concern you…"

Jacob stood. "C'mon, Mad...eleine," he finished, adding a smile for good measure. "I can help you. You know, it'll be hard but we can tell my parents. I'll marry you if you want—"

"No!" she practically roared.

Jacob was taken aback. "Alright," he shrugged, as if to calm her down. "We won't get married then…"

"I know you may not think much of me, but I deserve to be married to someone who loves me."

"Madeleine!" her father's voice called out, reverberating against the wood separating them, causing Madeleine and Jacob to both look toward the shut bedroom door. "Dinner's ready."

Madeleine sighed and looked to Jacob. "Dinner's ready."

~!~

While Madeleine and Jacob talked in her bedroom, Aine helped her mother finish dinner while the boys, even Tom, worked to set the table.

"But Ma, I don't understand why we have to sit in the living room," Aiden complained. "We're going to hear you."

"No, you're going to listen to the radio and mind your business," Rian reminded.

"Rian, please, we can parent," Sybil gave in return, causing her eldest to blush as he defeatedly took a seat at the now set table with his father. "Listen, I know this is all hard on you, but your father and I need time to work this out with Madeleine."

"Why can't we come? This all affects us too!" Aiden tried again.

"In his defense, mam, we already know what's going on…" Rian added.

Sybil looked to Tom, and in seeing her hurt and confusion, he spoke up. "You know?"

"Well, she told me first," Aine said simply. "But she told all of us last weekend before she left for school."

"_Where have mam and dad gone, Ri?" Madeleine asked upon entering the kitchen._

"_Mrs. Reilly is having problems getting the new baby to feed so she called on mam. Dad went along for the visit."_

"_Oh," Madeleine let out as she walked to the refrigerator to fill up a glass with water. Behind her, her brothers and sister sat at the table in silence, none of them speaking the words they wished to. _

_Through the silence, Madeleine pulled out her chair, causing the wooden legs to scrape against the hardwood floors in a loud manner. More quietly, her glass was placed on the table, the waterline wavering while she moved to sit down. Then again, the sound of scraping as she pulled her chair in._

"_I'm pregnant."_

_With wide eyes, Rian looked up. He swallowed, and Aiden looked to him, needing guidance in this moment. Aine took the opposite approach, one that had her staring down into her lap where she absentmindedly picked at the skin around her thumbs. This was old news to her, as Madeleine, much in the way she just had, revealed her secret to her youngest sister that morning after getting out of the bath. In response, Aine said little. First a simple "okay" and then an apology, the last words she'd speak to her sister until just now, as she sat forward and offered more condolences._

"_You didn't have to tell them…"_

"_I did though," Madeleine insisted. "They're my brothers and they have a right to know."_

"_How?" Aiden asked, causing Rian to look at him in disapproval. Though the question was innocent coming from a thirteen year old, it still seemed inappropriate. Even if it did make sense to Aiden, and Rian knew it did, it wasn't going to make Madeleine's situation any better. No matter who understood or approved, she would still be with child and without a husband._

"_Uh, what are you going to do Mads?" _

_She sighed. "I'm not sure, Ri. I'm sorry though, alright? If people start to talk, I'm just really sorry…"_

"_It's...it's okay," Aiden managed. "I mean, sometimes they talk about mam anyway. We're used to it."_

"This is between your sister and us," Tom insisted. "It won't kill you to eat a meal by yourselves out in the living room, alright? And to not give your mother and I hell about it either…"

Sybil smirked at her husband as she turned back to the stove, stirring the potato dish she had prepared just as Tom moved out toward the hall to call for Madeleine and her guest, giving the other three Branson children plenty of time to go into the other room where their dinner sat waiting for them. By the time Madeleine and Jacob approached, the table was set, and Sybil was sitting down, ready to clasp her hands in prayer.

Jacob obliged, needing no urging to do so. It was the first and the last thing he'd do at this kitchen table that would make any sense. Though they all stood very much divided on the issue, their religion, no matter how instinctual, acted as a calming precursor to the awkward silence filled only with the clinking of silverware on porcelain dishes.

"Jacob..." Sybil began, knowing that if she didn't, no one would. "Or is it Jake? Which do you prefer?"

Madeleine looked to him, waiting for the response he'd give. "Either is fine," he said.

"And you're in what year at UCD?" Sybil asked.

Jacob met Madeleine's mother with a smile. Though the eldest Branson daughter had her father's coloring, her nose and cheeks were clearly inherited from her mother. "Third. I may graduate early if I can manage it."

"What are you studying?"

"Philosophy," he said, swallowing the food that was in his mouth before dabbing at his lips with his cloth napkin.

"Who's your favorite philosopher?" Tom said abruptly, his words sounding similar to an accusation, as if his answer would prove him worthy or not.

"Socrates."

"Is that because you agree with his teachings or you just find him to be fascinating?"

"I took a class on political theory my first semester. We covered a bunch of philosophers, but Socrates and I have a lot in common…"

"Are you aware of what Socrates says about violence?"

"I am."

"Alright," Tom said, now sitting back. "Then why would you wish to enlist?"

"Dad, please…" Madeleine tried.

"It's just a question," Tom dismissed. "We're just talking."

"It's something I believe in, I guess. I don't think it fair to allow other men to sacrifice their lives when I have just as much to lose."

"But Ireland is neutral."

"They'll still target us."

"But wouldn't Socrates say that you should stay in school? Intellectual power is stronger than physical power. If we raise our children to be great in one area, whether it be sports or music, those things will combat violence, no? Because by specializing, specifically in the arts, that which enriches the mind, we raise man up out of the state of nature."

"I can go back to school."

"Not if you're dead, you can't."

"Tom!" Sybil let out. "Jacob, excuse my husband. He's being insensitive," she warned, her eyes like daggers as they laid upon Tom's.

"You know what, Dad? Let's just get to it, alright? There's no sense in you harassing him."

"He's an adult, Madeleine. As you are now too. You make decisions like these, you'll be treated like an adult."

"Tom, please," Sybil said again. "Madeleine is right. Let's just get to it."

Tom looked to Jacob. "You realize this is Madeleine's decision, correct?"

"Dad…"

"It's her decision and you will respect what she chooses to do."

"Sir, with all due respect…"

"If she decides to have this child, will you be in its life?" Sybil asked sweetly, her voice, and the overall softness of it working to lighten the mood at the table.

"I...I guess so."

"You guess so?" Tom spat. "Is this not clear to you?"

"Tom…"

"Tá sé a gasú! Tá siad leanaí!"

"Tom, I know that, alright? But we discussed this and you're not making this any easier for her."

Madeleine watched now as the conversation died down and her parents merely looked at one another. Of course they had talked earlier, and she imagined her father and mother were much more calm then as they both managed to meet on the same page. It was never difficult for them to always be so solid, so strong as a unit. The contrast, even now as they spoke silent volumes with every blink of the eye, between her parents and her and Jacob, was all too real, and doing nothing to calm the unsettled feeling deep in her gut.

When this conversation was ended and an agreement was being reached, Madeleine watched as her father reached over and stroked her mother's hand, then moving it to hold onto his lap. With him as her strength, Sybil continued, speaking on behalf of her and her husband.

"And after the army, if you get out, will you get a job? If anything, god forbid, were to happen, would you marry Madeleine to make sure she and the child receive all of your benefits?"

"We're not getting married," Madeleine said quickly.

"Mads, I really think that might not be a bad option…" Jacob said, turning to her, creating a small moment just for the two of them.

Intensely, she stared back at him, reminding him of what she said before. Somehow she'd rather people think her without morals, than without heart; she'd rather the heartbreak of judgement than that of a loveless marriage.

"No," she let out. "Absolutely not."

"Madeleine, can you please compromise here? I know none of this is ideal, but you know what people will think. At least if you're married, they know you have good intentions."

"Do you?" Madeleine asked, looking to Jacob again.

"Do I what?"

"Have good intentions," she explained. "Can you honestly say you'll want to be married to me?"

"Madeleine, please. We are friends." He said it again, this time looking to Sybil and Tom. "We are friends. I respect you. This is hard on me too. It doesn't make me feel great to see you struggle, okay? If this will make all of this easier, yes, I'll absolutely marry you. I honestly think that's best. Then, like your mam said, if anything happens to me, you and the baby are taken care of." He sighed. "We can tell people that we fell in love and I want to enlist and we think it's a good time to get married. Crazier things have happened."

She had no words. Those she was feeling were weak, and altogether useless. It did not matter what she felt or knew in her heart to be true; the points raised by Jacob and her parents were valid, and considering her condition, she had no option but to agree. "Alright. We'll get married then."

Something in the way her daughter spoke, had Sybil's heart breaking. After all that had happened, Sybil felt as if she didn't know Madeleine, or that the girl she thought she knew, the bright, beautiful, happy girl, had long ago been replaced by someone much more pained, and all without either her or Tom noticing. Still, Madeleine wasn't crying, and Sybil wondered if this was a good sign or bad. Perhaps she was growing tolerant to all of it, no longer able to feel, or emote. She hoped it would change, or knew that it would, because sometimes all a mother had was the capability to empathize with her children.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

x. Elle


	4. On The Front Lines

**A/N****: **It's worth noting that a few of you have asked if this story is a part of the _On The Other Side_ universe. The reason being that at the end of that story (spoiler alert!) Sybil and Tom have four children, all of whom share the names of the children in this story. When I write it canon, I use these names; I've claimed them as the Branson children. With names, I just like the idea that the same person can exist as many different versions of themselves. If you're familiar with my work, you know that I always have Sybil and Tom's first child be a girl and her name is always Madeleine (the spelling of which differs from universe to universe). So to answer the question, is this the same universe? Well, maybe. The exception being that ages have us being a few years off - ie, if Madeleine in OTOS was nineteen, this would be 1939/1940...so not yet WW2. I still want Sybil and Tom youthful in this story, so as long as we can acknowledge that and forgive the slight gap in years, then I have no problem with readers reading this as an extension of that story.

But I've rambled enough now. This chapter will hopefully bring to light a lot of everyone's curiosities, and confirm that yes, war does sometimes bring out the worst in people. Enjoy! x

* * *

While Tom and Jacob took a walk back toward campus, Madeleine offered to wash the dishes. At first, she enjoyed how silent the kitchen was and how her position standing in front of the sink enabled her to look down onto the small plotted backyard where her mother was taking down the last of the day's laundry. As she saw Sybil ascend the steps, she turned away, beginning to dry the dishes Aine and Aiden helped her to clean. It was a nice gesture, and one she had fond memories of as a little girl: all of them, elbow-deep in murky water, thanking God for dirty dishes because they were the product of full bellies. Her mind only lingered here briefly though, as she instinctively worried about Jacob and the wrath he was undoubtedly incurring from her father. It was well deserved, and she felt much of her father's pain, but she still worried - for both men.

Behind her, her mother headed for the living room where she'd sit on the couch and fold laundry while listening to the radio. In her wake, the hallway was cast into darkness once more, all until Rian walked in, hopping up the steps and immediately walking to the sink to wash his hands.

"Mum and dad know, you know," Madeleine said as she nodded to her brother who grabbed a dirty rag from under the sink to dry his palms.

"Yeah?" Rian asked. "Do you think they'll care?" he chided.

Madeleine looked to her brother with an icy glare. "You're a right arse, you know that?"

"Mads, I'm sorry, but me having a fag every once in awhile is nothing compared to what you've managed to get yourself into."

"You're not being especially kind."

"Yeah," Rian chuckled. "And you weren't especially careful, were you?"

Madeleine threw the damp towel down and turned on her heel to face her brother. "No, I apparently wasn't, but let's not act like I am the only girl in this town who has sex, alright? Are you and Ciara always careful?"

Rian pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and leaned back to rest against the countertop, his feet crossed over one another for support. "We don't have to be careful."

"Excuse me?"

Rian laughed again before straightening up. "Who said we were having sex?" he said, the question being spoken in the same tone as his previous statement.

Madeleine's eyes narrowed. "You're...you're not?"

"No," Rian breathed out. "We'll wait until we're married."

Madeleine bit her lip and turned back to the sink. She thought she was doing a fair job of hiding it, but all too quickly tears began to well up, filling her ducts and her lower lash line, threatening to spill down onto her cheeks. "Of course you are…"

Rian sipped at the glass of water he poured for himself. When he set it back down on the table, he sighed and stepped into his sister. "I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have said anything."

She snapped at him, her eyes still narrowed. "Are you really going to marry her?"

"Yeah," Rian shrugged. "Someday, I imagine. After the war. After she's trained to be a secretary. After I've gone to uni." Another sigh, and then the truth: "I've loved Ciara since I was 13, Mads. I imagine I'll always love her."

Madeleine swallowed and nodded at her brother. Doing so caused her eyes to flutter upward and catch upon his. "Are you in love with her?"

"Yeah," Rian said breathlessly. "I am."

"Have you told her?"

"Yeah."

"What's that like?"

"Loving someone?"

Slowly, Madeleine blinked, and shook her head. "No, I know what that's like. The other part," she explained. "Her loving you back."

Rian looked down to the floor, but the smile he wore was bright and spread like wildfire across his cheeks. "Grand."

Madeleine smiled too. She was unapologetically happy for her brother, and rightfully so. "Grand?"

"Feckin' grand."

She turned back to the sink and grabbed for another plate, but as she began to dry it, she realized that perhaps the cloth in her hand was doing more harm than help, as it created several small streaks of dampness the longer Madeleine pushed at the porcelain. "I like Ciara," she revealed softly. "Be good to her."

"Working on it…"

"Well maybe instead of buying yourself fags, you should buy her something nice."

"I buy her plenty of nice things."

"Well you should start saving. You know how her family is. They'll want a nice ring, and they'll have the ceremony at her church on the other side of town. I imagine it'll be quite lavish."

"I don't know if she cares about all of those things."

"Well have you talked about it?"

"A wedding?" Madeleine nodded. "We talk about everything, Mads. I mean, yeah, it's come up. One time she told me we could go to city hall. Just sign the papers. Have someone we don't even know be witness to the vows. You know how she is."

"Well, she says those things, and maybe she would be happy with that, but I think her parents would prefer a traditional affair."

Rian kicked at the floor below with the rubber sole of his trainer. "Yeah, I guess," he sighed. Soon, his cup of water was gone and he was left without an excuse to be standing beside his sister.

The two of them, though separated only by two and a half years, looked nothing alike. Rian was the only child to have his mother's hair and complexion, while the rest of them were blessed with Tom's coloring, making Aine look like a younger, softer version of Madeleine. They were built similarly though, both slim and of average height. Madeleine had a small waist and arms she thought were a bit chubbier than she would prefer. Daily, Rian struggled with the coarseness of his hair, but they both always looked so put together, much in the way all the Branson children did; all of them so very different but clearly belonging to the same liberal household.

"Why did you do it, Mads?"

She turned to him, her face grown cold. "I don't know," she revealed simply.

"Were you langered?"

"No. Neither of us were."

"Did you talk about it or did he force himself on you or—"

"It just happened, Ri. I...I don't know."

"Alright. Well, if he…" Rian's voice trailed off as he thought of the words he could even say to explain himself. "Just know that I may not understand it and I may be taking this the hardest, but you're still my big sister, and I'll feckin' kill him if I have to."

Madeleine sighed and turned back to the sink. She was on her last dish and in a way, wishing there was more than just silverware to dry so she wouldn't have to retreat to her room so early. "Thank you, but Dad's already taking care of it."

"Killing him?" Rian asked.

He smirked and she followed suit, both of them enjoying how even such stupid humor could still cheer them up. "No. They're just talking."

"Well good luck with that," Rian said matter of factly as he headed toward the door. "If I were Jacob, I'd wish I were dead."

~!~

"Do your parents know?" Tom asked simply. He and Jacob had not said much since departing from the townhome he shared with his family, and although Tom was not much for awkward conversation, he preferred it to time spent wasted. Jacob had carelessly gotten his daughter pregnant. Surely he could handle a walk back to campus on his own.

"No," Jacob replied simply. Like Tom, he had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers, that of which pulled up around the trainers he wore, ones similar to Rian's. "Madeleine only just told me."

"Are you going to tell them?"

"I suppose I'll have to," he sighed. "I'll tell them we're getting married and—"

"Why is it that she bears the shame openly and you don't?"

"They'll put the pieces together. And I'm not ashamed…"

"Well, no, because Madeleine is a pretty girl. She's pretty and smart and kind. I'm sure you told all of your friends about it."

"With all due respect, sir, I—"

"Well did you?"

"No!" Tom turned his head down and widened his eyes in hopes of coaxing a different, more honest answer from the boy. "I didn't!" Jacob gave again.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Jacob? I was your age once..."

"Is that why you married Mrs. Branson?"

Tom scoffed as the heel of his dress shoes hit heavily against the eroded pavement they walked on. "No...but I'm sure that's what people would love to think. Sybil wasn't pregnant until a couple months into our marriage. But let me tell you something, Jacob. People choose to believe their own version of the truth. You and Madeleine can get married and have this child and raise it together. And you'll go to mass every Sunday and everyone will be cordial with you and they'll love that child, but do not think for a second that they don't think they know better. And they won't look at you poorly, they'll look at her and—" Tom stopped. Already, he felt verklempt at thinking just how harsh the world was about to become for his eldest daughter.

Or was it his wife he was sad for?

"I haven't told anyone. I mean, I didn't…" Jacob said. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are."

"Madeleine's been a good friend to me. You know, I'm not from Dublin, and UCD and the city has been a big change from home…"

Tom shut his eyes, wishing and wanting it all to go away. "Jacob, it doesn't matter now. It doesn't. What's done is done. She's going to have this baby. Your baby. And I wanted to talk to you and I wanted to tell you how fecking angry I am. I'm mad at myself. I'm confused. I'm scared for my daughter. But—"

"But?"

"But for Madeleine," Tom inhaled sharply, "I'm biting my tongue. Which, for a man of my age is not always the easiest thing to do. And like I said, I remember being your age. I remember feeling invincible and I remember having…" His voice trailed off, and the two, still walking, seemed to almost stop. "Desires," he finally finished.

"Sir…"

"I never wanted to have to ever say this to anyone. I don't believe this is something a father is ever going to want to have to say, but I'm going to need you to find a way to love her. Not right away. I don't expect that. But Madeleine is a good girl. She always has been. So I trust it won't be that hard for you to make yourself love her. It's just...your carelessness has robbed her of a good marriage, to someone who thinks my daughter is as special as she is. So while friendship is important, she deserves more…"

Jacob sighed. "I don't know if that'll be a problem. She is special. She's really, really...lovely," he settled. "But I can love her all I want and I don't think for a moment that she'll love me back. Somehow all of this has made her hate me. I can't think of how it was before. You know, I saw her after, and everything was so normal. She was happy, and we went to the library to study and I just don't understand how a child has ruined it all."

"The child hasn't ruined anything. It's just changed things. It's put life into perspective. Madeleine's going to have to drop out of school, you know…"

"Will she?"

"She'll have to and you will as well. That is, if you don't enlist. If you enlist, well, either way you're both leaving school. And if you'd be willing to die for others, for the safety and protection of your country, I can't imagine why having to leave university to rear a child would be any different."

"I don't know what to say," Jacob muttered, with eyes that seemed to be stuck forever on the gravel below.

"Well I've never been in war. I've lived through one, as a boy, but I was never sent to fight. I am a father though. And I'm a good father. And I'd venture to say that even the best fathers would say going off to war is the easier of your two options."

~!~

When Sybil found Madeleine, she was shocked not only to see her sitting on the cold linoleum floor below the kitchen sink, but to be out of her room at all. She imagined that all of her children were fast asleep by now and that it was just her husband she was waiting up for. With his absence, and the house now draped in the cool blue of an aging Autumn, Sybil imagined Tom walking around downtown, taking his time in the parks and through the back alleys, his mind only making the decision to return home when he was calm enough to do so. He hadn't told her what it was he planned to talk to Jacob about but she imagined that they would talk, and that Tom's words would be much more harsh than any he had ever dealt his own children.

Sybil liked Jacob. If he hadn't gotten her eldest daughter pregnant, she imagined she would have enjoyed his company even more. As a mother though, she did her best to see whatever it was her daughter saw in him, the easiest of which was the pale color of his cheeks, and the soft smile he wore to brighten them up, that of which worked nicely with his auburn hair. He was tall, possibly even taller than her husband, but not as broad. He was built the way many boys in this town were, with limbs and necks far too long for their bodies. She imagined, as she was sure her daughter had, that he'd soon grow into his own. It was clear his parents were already working to make this happen: sending him off to Ireland's best Catholic University, dressing him well, and assuring he knew all of his table manners.

It occurred to her when Sybil came upon Madeleine, her small form pulled into itself as she wrapped her arms around her bent knees, that this was the first time she had brought a boy into their home. Rian had Ciara, and the two were friends before they were anything else. Ciara attended one of the young nurse's programs with Sybil as counselor, and for this reason, and then many more, she was often in the Branson home. Sybil hated to admit it, but it was most likely more than her or Tom liked to admit, but they hoped they had instilled in their children the wit to take care of themselves when situations of a sexual nature presented themselves. Now, with Madeleine, Sybil had to believe they did, even if all their planning had essentially failed.

"Madeleine, is there a reason you're on my floor? I did just clean, but I'd really prefer you at least take a seat out on the sofa, darling…"

Her daughter said nothing, and barely even lifted her eyes to meet her mother's, though it was clear to Sybil that she was, as usual, crying.

"Mads, c'mon now love, what is it now?" She stopped as she saw her sink was clear and clean. "Thank you for doing the dishes, love," she stated quite simply as she moved to take a seat beside her daughter.

"Was it dinner? Are you mad at your father?" Sybil tried. When Madeleine remained silent, she continued. "Well is it me? Is there something I can do?"

"I don't want to marry Jacob, mum…"

Sybil wrapped an arm around her daughter and pulled the child in. Though almost equal to her in size, she would always be her baby, her little girl, the one that taught her so much about being a woman and mother. Now, she imagined she'd enlighten her on what it was like to be a friend. While Sybil had many acquaintances, beyond Tom and his family, there were few women she actually enjoyed talking to, mostly because she knew they did not enjoy talking to her.

"What would you like to do then, Madeleine?"

"I don't know!" she gave. "But I don't want to marry him. It's not...we can't fix that, this way!"

"Mads, darling, nothing can fix this. You know that right? This will not just go away."

"I know, but maybe I could go somewhere!"

"Where?" Sybil shot back immediately. Already, her words were harsh, but quickly she added more fury to them. "Where?" she tried again.

"I…" Madeleine stopped, swallowing the guilt and spit she had pooling in the back of her throat. "To live with Aunt Edith in London, or…"

"I will not give you to your Aunt Edith. That is an escape, Madeleine Branson, and your father and I did not raise you to be a coward and run from your problems." She sighed, hoping that a failed attempt at rationalization would cause her daughter to see her side of things. "So what? Your father and I send you to your Aunt Edith's? Then what? We're fighting a war, Madeleine. Edith is barely staying in London anymore. Her and your Great Aunt Rosamund are thinking of joining Granmum Cora's family in America. Will you go with them? Then what? I never see you again? You and the baby certainly don't see Jacob? Is that it? Will everything be fixed for you when you're rich but very, very alone?"

"I don't know, Mama!" Madeleine lamented again. "There is no answer!"

"No, my sweet," Sybil sang as she stroked her daughter's chestnut locks, feeling the tresses revert to their curl despite the way she smoothed them back away from her forehead. "There is not. But here, your father and I can help you. Jacob, you know, we can't control him. Whatever he decides to do is his business. But if you're in Ireland, we can watch over you. This will never be perfect, Madeleine. I'm sorry, but it won't be. But if you cooperate, and you try and get through this, we can get you to a point where things are okay."

"Married?" she sobbed, wiping at her nose.

Softly, Sybil shrugged. "I know it seems dreadful. I swore, Madeleine, I swore," she emphasized with teeth gritting, "that I'd never force my children to marry anyone they didn't want to. You know, I want nothing more than for you to find someone you love so you can spend the rest of your life with them. I want that for my children because that's what I was given. But this...you've changed things. This child," Sybil said gently, "has changed things. You're going to be a mother. You're going to find out that the small world you've occupied up until this point is no longer yours alone. And I don't think it'd be the worst thing to have Jacob discover that with you, you know? At least this way, you'll have married a friend."

Madeleine nodded, but did not speak. Her cheeks were turned pink and hot by her mother's words, and her mouth was spread as tears cascaded down her chin. Finally, she looked to Sybil. "I do love him."

Sybil smirked and pulled her daughter in again. With force, she kissed the crown of her head, willing her own eyes to thwart the tears they were contemplating producing. "I know you do."

"I'm in love with him. I feel like I always have been. I mean, first it was a crush, but then we became friends and he was smart and polite, and he came from a good family and when he kissed me I didn't want him to stop…"

Finally, Sybil had no other choice but to let herself cry. Her daughter's admission had broken her, and she had no other option but to spill her sadness out onto the top of Madeleine's head, letting the two girls, women really, cry together.

"Oh, Madeleine…" Sybil finally said as she willed herself to pick up her head and wipe at her under eyes. "That makes me so so sad, darling…"

"I'm sad about a lot of things, mam, but not about that. He was just so slow and gentle and nice. He was patient and for a moment I thought he might actually love me back. And I'm okay with being that delusional. I'm okay with being that stupid girl. I mean, never again, but I had that once. And it was thrilling and it felt good and I felt beautiful…"

"Madeleine, the intention, was that you someday marry a man who makes you feel all of those things every night."

Madeleine's eyes got wide, and she detached from her mother to show the way in which she was struggling with Sybil's frank words. "Every night?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, darling. Every night. Maybe not like that. And after babies, definitely not like that. At least not every night," she repeated. "But in other ways. He'll help you with the nappies and he'll offer to do dishes after supper. He'll hold your hand during mass, and when you walk in the park, he'll press his hand to the small of your back…"

"Mam, I'm...I'm not going to have a marriage like you and dad."

Sybil seemed offended by this, as if her children, her and Tom's children, should all think themselves worthy of such a thing. "Why not?"

"Well not now," Madeleine said, gesturing flatly to her stomach. "And besides, mam, even if I wasn't pregnant. That's...we can't…"

"What?" Sybil choked out.

Madeleine sighed and looked straight ahead again, her eyes trained on the crucifix that hung above the doorway on the far wall. "I think for awhile, I wanted it. Or thought I could have it…" Her voice trailed off, and as Madeleine looked to her mother, she shook her head, feeling silly for even daring to think and then speak these things. "But I mean, not everyone will. I still want to marry someone who loves me and someone who treats me and my children well, but—"

"But?"

"But I'm not you and dad, mam. And Rian and Ciara? Probably won't be you guys either. And maybe that's okay, you know? It's okay not to have this whirlwind romance. You can still be happy, right?"

"Madeleine, I don't understand…"

"It's not really your place to understand, mam. You and Dad have this perfect, all-consuming, just really beautiful love story. And you two fought for one another and you ran away together and you made a life for yourselves. And now you have us. You two have good jobs and you love one another and your kids are doing alright. You've been pretty lucky in that regard so—"

"Lucky?" Sybil asked, pressing a tight hand to her chest. "I am blessed, Madeleine. But your father and I have been through things too, alright? So if we've painted this picture of a flawless marriage and life, it's wrong. We were wrong in doing that," she repeated. " Your father was my best friend before he was anything else. And now he's still my best friend and we still fight and argue and make mistakes. It's what life's all about. And it was hard sometimes and it's still hard. Right now, us watching you go through this, is absolutely tearing me up inside. And he won't say anything, but it's killing your father as well. But those things, even this, makes us stronger. It makes it all just that much more worth it."

Madeleine sighed, and pressed a hand to her mouth as she began to think. "You didn't paint that picture. I just believed in it too strongly. Or held on too tightly, needing it to be true. You know, I thought if I opened up to Jacob in that way, he'd love me. But it only made me fall in love with him more. And he still wants to be friends." Again, she sighed. "You know, I've been trying, but I can't find the strength in this, mam. That night, what Jacob and I did, that was great. And yeah, I did want to do it again. Sometimes I still do. But I've woken up since. I can't be nineteen and stupid forever. There is a child inside of me. A small human who will someday depend on me for probably more than I can ever give it. And I'm still terrified and still sick, and still very ashamed. I was...I was, uh, done with the dishes and I went to go turn out the lights and I thought of how it was possible, if Jacob enlisted, that he could die. And I just started crying, because I was thinking that maybe I could have that marriage I always dreamed about. Maybe some man would love me and my baby, and that would be okay then because after the war, being widowed would be common. I'd be free," she admitted, breathlessly, as she continue to cry, while speaking to the wall, and not her mother.

Sybil said nothing, and could only keep a tight grip around Madeleine's shoulders as she continued to cry. Sybil was crying too, but was doing her best to dab at her nose and conceal just how hurt she was by all of this. Through it all, she half-hoped Tom would walk in, but the more she thought about it, the more selfish she felt, knowing that would provide reprieve only for her.

Finally: "Your father and I didn't wait, you know."

It was this that had Madeleine quickly extending her head upward as she too wiped at her upper lip. "Wha...what?"

"We didn't wait. To have sex," she elaborated. Then, she closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the lazy-susan. The tears she was crying seemed to glue her eyes shut. "Oh, god, please don't ever repeat that. Especially to your Gram. I only tell you because...your father and I are not perfect, Madeleine. We never have been. Yes, I loved him with all of my heart and I felt, when we first made love, that I had waited for the man I was going to marry and spend the rest of my life with. And a few months later, we did get married, but that first night, no, we were not married. I had only been in Dublin a week or two. Before then, it was touch and go. We'd been apart for a very long time…"

Something in her mother's words had Madeleine letting out a small laugh. Sybil took notice, and looked at her daughter, hoping she hadn't mistaken the laugh for another cry.

"Madeleine?" Sybil tried again, but only when her daughter's laughter died down, and nothing but silence followed it. "Did I—"

"He is such...a hypocrite."

"Oh, Madeleine, please…"

"No, mam!" Madeleine yelled now. "He is! What if you'd been pregnant? What then?"

"Then we'd move up the ceremony. That was a bit different, love. I'd known your father for many years at that point. We had plans..."

"But you were not married," she repeated harshly.

"Madeleine, please!" Sybil begged. "I did not tell you that so you could throw this back in my face—"

"Not your face, mam! His! Do you know he's barely said a word to me since I told him? You know how close Daddy and I are! It's not fair! When I needed him most, he's left me alone! It's just not fair…"

"Mads, please, alright? He's just very hurt. And he's scared for you…"

"Well he has a piss-poor way of showing it!"

"Madeleine!"

"I am sorry, mam, but I can't do it anymore. If he's so ashamed of me then…"

"Then what, Madeleine?" Sybil asked with a sigh. "What then? Will you leave? Where will you go?"

"Back to school for awhile. I can't be in this house. At least there, Jacob and I can talk about things…"

"Fine!" Sybil shouted back.

Madeleine heaved, and once again took in her mother's posture, that of a woman standing, and declaring defeat. "What?" she asked.

"I said, fine, Madeleine! You're not a child anymore. Do as you please. I was on your side and I am still on your side and as your mother I will always be on your side, but I cannot help a child who does not want help. And again, I cannot watch my daughter and my husband wage war on one another over things they cannot change. I've watched men in this country do the same thing since I got here and it is exhausting!"

"Alright," Madeleine nodded. She moved for the door and wrapped her cardigan closer around her frame as she too hugged herself. "Fine," she said back.

"You can leave in the morning…"

Sybil's voice trailed off as Madeleine looked up, her gaze catching upon her father's as he ascended the steps leading up from the front door. Like her own, his shoulders hung heavy, but he attempted to smile at his daughter, which ultimately pushed her quickly down the hallway toward her old bedroom.

In her absence, Sybil sighed, and leaned back against the countertop as she began to weep into her hands. Instantly, she felt Tom beside her, the chill from his soft jacket, working to comfort her when she too felt so cold.

"What's going on?" he tried as he forced her eyes to look up at his by repositioning her chin.

As she spoke, Tom wiped at her eyelids with the rough pads of his large thumbs. "I don't know," Sybil shrugged. "We were having such a lovely chat, and I just thought if I was honest with her…"

Tom's eyes darkened as they searched his wife's face for an answer. "Honest?"

"I told her about us, love. You know, about how we made love...before…"

Sybil didn't have to finish for Tom to know how the story ended. The one thing he couldn't stop thinking about since their daughter first gave them her news was now the same thing she most likely fumed over while getting ready for bed. "Syb...why would you do that? What was that meant to help?"

"Her…" Sybil tried. "It was meant to help her. I thought if I told her the truth, she'd feel less bad and—"

"Well does she?" Sybil blinked and Tom continued. "Feel less bad, I mean."

"I don't know," Sybil shrugged. "Probably not."

"And you? Do you feel any better?"

"No," Sybil said as she now looked to the floor, avoiding her husbands eyes completely. "I feel awful."

"Alright," Tom nodded. As he grabbed for his wife's hand and went to wrap his other arm around her shoulders, his entire body softened. "Me too."

What could possibly be misconstrued as tough love or even bullying, was actually Tom's way of admitting that he too was not okay, and as they made their way silently into their bedroom for the night, he found himself hoping that the lack of light and clothing would quickly work to change things just as soon as the door was shut behind them.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

_**Crash Into Me_ gets updated next, though when, I have no idea. That chapter is being stubborn, to say the least.

x. Elle


	5. Ceasefire

**A/N****:** Hi! Sorry it has been awhile. I've had this saved just haven't felt like posting - to be honest. But you can thank my insomnia for this chapter...

We're nearing the end of this story. I imagine there will be two more chapters after this one. Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed. To think that a simple prompt brought this on is so amusing, but I am grateful that this has developed in the way that it has. I appreciate all of the support.

Enjoy! x

* * *

With the door shut behind them, Tom helped Sybil out of her clothes. Naked, and still weeping, he swiped at her under eyes with the pads of his thumbs, before slowly draping her nightgown over her bare form. As she moved toward their bed, the moonlight cast her skin in a warm blue, causing her legs and waist to silhouette beneath the sheer material of her cotton dress.

In bed, she slid beneath the duvet and watched as Tom stepped out of his shirt and trousers, and began to walk to her in just his underwear. Twenty years of marriage did not change the way, even in sadness, she wanted him. Here, where she couldn't force the ache in her abdomen to subside, Sybil was somehow able to force a smile, one that continued as he got into bed beside her and immediately enveloped her in his arms. There she continued to sob, soft, mewing cries into his neck as he kissed her forehead and smoothed back her hair. He was speechless, but his lips found other ways to be reassuring, several times after Sybil leaned up into him, presenting her mouth to his like an offering he couldn't help but to seize.

No longer did her chest heave, and eventually, the couple found themselves on their sides, facing in to one another, with limbs still holding one another close as Sybil let a palm rest reassuringly against her husband's cheek. He sighed at the contact, but still was unable to to say much. All that fell from his mouth was "I love you," and when it came, he couldn't stop. It was benediction and release, and through her final tears, she smiled, and he joined her, the two of them thankful for one another in such a chaotic world.

"I yelled at her, Tom…" Sybil tried. "I raised my voice to our daughter. I spoke to her like she was a child and in doing so, it was what I became."

"Syb, love…" Tom managed, kissing her hands before bringing them down to clasp within his own upon the small bit of mattress that separated them. "She is a child."

"Not anymore, she's not. Our baby is having a baby, Tom. She's going to be a mother and a wife..."

"Just because she'll be married and with child, doesn't mean she'll be a wife and a mother."

Sybil blinked tightly. When she opened her eyes, Tom was motionless still, waiting for her to respond. He wouldn't give her an elaboration, or offend her by reiterating what it was he had just said. She heard him, and now it was time for him to pay her the same respect.

"We have to help her, Tom. I can't abandon her. If Jacob…" A hiccup of sorrow caught them both off guard, hindering Sybil's words from continuing to spill out. "We could say it's mine, maybe? We could send her to America, perhaps? Or with Edith. We'll say she's helping family during the war. Being a nurse. And I'll feign a pregnancy and then, when the child comes, I will treat it as my own."

"Sybil," Tom said with dark eyes, "I will not have you carry her burden. She will marry Jacob and that will be the end of it. The boy has told me he doesn't plan on enlisting. He seems to be extremely shaken by all of this and he just wants to do what is right."

Sybil's eyes narrowed, a product of confusion, and slight offense at her husband's words. "Are you on his side now?"

"I'm not on anyone's side, love. I'm on your side. You and me, right?" Sybil smirked so Tom continued. "Whatever you want to do…"

"I don't want to have to do any of this, Tom. But it occurred to me tonight that I can't force my daughter to marry someone she doesn't love. I was once put in that position. I told you that. If you hadn't proposed and given me options, I'd be married to Larry Grey now."

Tom rolled his eyes, but also kissed his wife's knuckles. "That was a decision you made, love. I just...I was there to help you through it."

"Well I want our daughter to be able to make her own decisions. I want her to marry for love and have babies with a man that treats her well. She deserves those things and I don't want this to haunt her for the rest of her life…"

Tom reached forward. Momentarily he was taken out of the moment and distracted by the way in which Sybil's hair matted against her pillowcase. Bothered by its imperfection, he smoothed it back, and in doing so, cradled her face in his hands. As she softened into him, his heart warmed, and the grip he had on her hipbone became more strong.

"I think she loves him. I think she loves him very much, actually," Tom said, as if to correct himself.

"She does," Sybil nodded. "She's in love with him, the poor girl."

"She told you?"

"She did. She's...it's sad, Tom. I think she just thought if…"

It was Tom's turn to nod. "Of course she did, love. Our daughter may be brave and bold and independent, but I find it hard to believe that even our Madeleine would just give herself to anyone. She's always known what she wanted, but you can't fault her for being a girl."

"A girl?" Sybil asked, her eyebrow quirked in contest. "I once knew a boy who gave his heart quite willingly to a girl he'd only ever driven around. I don't think matters of the heart take gender into consideration, love," Sybil teased.

"Aye," Tom sighed. "Yes, well, I can't fault her for that. But I know that life and it's not an easy one."

"Well I'm here now, aren't I?" Sybil asked sweetly. "We worked it all out. I came around eventually."

"Yeah," he exhaled again. "You're here and I still sometimes have to pinch myself to see if this is all real. This life we've built and this home and our children. I'm in awe of it."

"Maybe Jacob will come around. Maybe he'll realize he does love her. Or he can grow to love her. I didn't think it was possible but I somehow fell even more in love with you after we had children."

"We had a stronger foundation, love. There wasn't war. We were friends for a very, very long time before I was even allowed to kiss you…"

Sybil giggled. "You poor dear," she mused, pressing a caressing hand to his cheek in jest. "Was that hard for you?"

Boldly, and without warning, Tom straddled Sybil, making sure not to rest all of his weight upon her as he held her wrists into the mattress. She felt him though, all of his want pressing softly into her hip. "You have no idea, love," he growled. She smirked and leaned up to kiss him, essentially accepting her fate.

Just as they had so many times before, the two made love, taking their time to allow fingers to pass over skin, all of it so familiar and gentle. Early years of marriage had allowed them adventure, time and volume, all of which they were forced to forfeit as children came and then aged. It did not make them bitter, however, and the space and intimacy they were allotted was treasured, and made all that more special when both were able to realize the same sparks they'd once ignited by simple glances still existed here in Dublin, amongst the life they created together outside of Downton.

In the aftermath of it all, with the room eerily still and Sybil curled into her husband, both of them still very much exposed, she drew circles on his chest and up and down his shoulders and arms. He watched her, pressing kisses to her temple and neck, before the two were once again lost in it all, breathing in deeply to satiate their lungs' need for oxygen.

"I have an idea…" Tom said softly as Sybil finally settled back into him.

Hearing this, she looked up to him. He found she was more curious than anything else, and the original trepidation he felt at returning to their previous topic vanished as he inhaled sharply, ready to share his thoughts.

"Downton."

"What about Downton?"

"Her and Jacob can go stay at Downton. You said with the war that your parents are seeing yet another decrease in staff. Your father is in London most of the time, and surely your mother would like the company with him gone. She's been lonely since Mary and Matthew moved out, and you know how much she loves Madeleine. I just thought…" He stopped, studying his wife's features and the way in which not much had changed about them since he began speaking. "Is it an absolutely rubbish idea? I'm sorry…"

"No," Sybil revealed softly. "No," it came again, this time with a small shake of her head. "It's a good idea. I like it a lot. I just...I'm surprised you thought of it."

Tom smirked and once again, kissed the bridge of Sybil's hand. "And why is that?"

"Because I don't think you'd ever condone sending our daughter away, especially to Downton. And the war...I just thought you'd want her close. With family."

"She'll be with family," Tom assured soundly. "Your mam and Isobel are still there. That new gentleman studying beneath Dr. Clarkson can birth the child. She'll be in good hands. You once were," he nudged. But his face grew serious once more. "I just don't know if this is the place for her right now."

"Dublin?" Sybil's voice cracked. "This is our home, Tom…"

"I know, and it can be her home someday too, but the judgement…" He sighed. "I don't know if it's worth it. I'd rather her go away for a year. People won't know her there and she'll be in the countryside and by the time everyone even takes notice of her, she'll be able to come back, and by then, everyone around here will just accept what's happened."

"But if her and Jacob marry, then what's the difference?"

"Where would they live, Sybil?"

"Where would they and the child live when they return? Wouldn't that be a more difficult transition?"

Tom chuckled. "I thought you liked this idea…"

"I'm only trying to think it all through."

"If they go away, we can work something out while they're gone," Tom explained. "It's just, I'm terrified…"

"Of?" Sybil asked with raised eyebrows.

"Mass."

This had her laughing, so hard that she reached a hand up to clasp her mouth shut. Finally: "I'm sorry," she managed through another exasperated giggle. "You've always been scared of Mass, darling. And in your defense, it is scary sometimes. But I hardly think it's something Madeleine and Jacob can't handle. All of those women love babies and they love Madeleine."

"But they talk, Sybil! That's what they do! They smile and bless you and ask how things are, and then you walk away, and they judge."

"You worry too much!" Sybil brushed off.

"I don't worry too much," Tom said quickly. "You're still so naive!"

"Tom!" Sybil warned.

"I'm sorry, love, but you forgive too easily! You remember the things my mam told us they said about you…"

"Yes, and now I've helped many of those women's children and grandchildren give birth. I've taught those women how to nurse and fed their children when they were sick, or rocked their babes when they were ill."

"And what has Madeleine done for them?"

"She's a child! She doesn't have to do anything for them. Isn't that the point of being Catholic? You do your damndest to love those, especially those in hardship, because they need it most?"

"Oh, so she's back to being a child now, yeah?"

"Well, it's her life. Why don't we give her options? Nothing is desirable, but maybe she'll see things we haven't. That's fair, right? My parents didn't give me options…"

"You weren't pregnant with my child at that point."

"No, I wasn't," Sybil said softly, her voice sounding equal parts contemplative and earnest.

In seeing Sybil was suddenly lost, Tom reached forward again, this time running a finger along her hairline to once again push at stray hairs there that were threatening to fall down toward her eyes. The motion forced Sybil to look up, and instinctually force a smile. She probably wasn't even aware that she had done it, but just as quickly she was gone again, distracted by a thought she had yet to share with Tom, one she didn't need to share — he knew exactly what it was that was eating at her.

"Love?"

She blinked and was brought back to him, back to this bed, and the warmth of his embrace. Another smile, one she wore as she leaned forward to kiss him, needing his lips to reassure her.

"Where'd you go?"

"Are we…" There was hesitation, but she persisted. "Are we hypocritical? I mean, are we just like them?"

"Why? Because I had you before marriage?"

Sybil smirked. "Well, yes…"

"You're not. You've been nothing but kind to Madeleine. You've been understanding and loving. But me? Yeah. I'm a hypocrite."

"Tom, that's not what I meant…" Sybil tried with a palm pressed to his cheek once more.

"No, but it's the truth. You know, I won't accept these parallels she's drawing. You drew the same one that first night and I just need to separate the two. My relationship with you and our marriage is nothing like her and Jacob—"

"She said the same thing…"

"What?"

"She said the same thing," Sybil repeated. "She said that she knows she'll never have what we have...and I don't even know what that means. I don't know what we've shown her that makes her think love is so out of reach. I thought we had done the opposite. She was created from it, raised by it, and showered in it as she aged. What more could we have done?"

"No more than we did all of those times before. When we made love and we were not yet husband and wife."

Sybil's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

Heavily, Tom exhaled. "It's done, Syb. It doesn't matter what we once did. What matters is that our daughter is pregnant. We can't change these things, you know. We can only make better decisions from here."

"Can I make a suggestion then?"

He nodded and kissed her temple. "Of course."

"Talk to her, Tom. Tell her you love her and that she is your baby girl and that you are on her side."

"I...I don't know if I can, Syb."

"If not for her, then for me?" It happened; Sybil was crying again. Her hands, previously caressing her husband's bare skin, reached up to cover and dab at her wet eyes. "You know, I used to be so jealous of you two. I loved her and I know she loved me in the way all children love their mothers, but god Tom, she adored you. From the time she was born, she constantly wanted to be with you, to be held by you, fed by you. I used to think if I wasn't there, she'd probably be fine. Of course I know that's not true, but I couldn't help but to believe that sometimes. And now you two won't even speak to one another. She needs you! I just know if you tell her it will all be alright, she may actually trust it. And she is far too young to believe it won't all work out. Far too young," Sybil repeated with teeth that grinded and red cheeks that pushed out more tears.

"Alright," Tom sighed, pulling Sybil close once more. "I'll talk to her."

~!~

Madeleine's fist was balled, not just for echo, but out of anger, and as it rapped against the wooden door of Jacob's dormitory, she found herself praying, for many different reasons, that he just appear already. When he finally did, and she saw he had not yet dressed for bed, her face battled itself, settling somewhere between relief and curiosity as she pushed past him and made her way inside.

"Mads, are you okay?"

She sat quickly atop his bed. "M'fine."

When Jacob said nothing, she continued. "I just can't be home tonight. I can't be around them. My mam and dad are...they're hypocrites and I didn't know where else to go, and I know this is very against the rules and I'm sorry but—"

"It's alright," Jacob said calmly. "I'm actually glad you came."

"You…" Madeleine looked up and blinked. Her eyes narrowed at the mere sight of him, so cool and collected as if his child was not growing in her belly. "What?"

"I wanted to talk to you and to apologize. I've already written my parents and I'm going to explain everything to them. Your dad seems to think that I want you to carry the blame of this on your own and that's not the truth so—"

"No," Madeleine said weakly. "What I mean is, please don't write them."

"Madeleine, he's right, okay? It's not fair that your parents know and help you in this way and my parents—"

"They'll cast you off, Jake. You need your inheritance from them, alright? This baby deserves that money. I'm sorry, I don't care if that comes off a certain way…"

"I thought about that but they can't take it away from me. That's money my grandparents left for me and they have no say over me receiving it. They can stop paying for school and then can kick me out of the house, but that money will still be mine. We can still use it for the baby and you know, maybe I can still go to school. Or you can!" Jacob said quickly, only after realizing how selfish he sounded. Somehow though, even before the correction, Madeleine was smiling, and ever so gently, she reached up to palm his cheek.

"I know this is scary, Jake, and I am sorry for that. But I have a lot of respect for you right now. For even talking to me after that awful dinner with my parents. For letting me come to talk to you here. It's late and you have rowing in the morning and—"

Quickly, Jacob leaned in and seized Madeleine's lips against his. It was rushed, and altogether fleeting, but the few seconds of impact had both of them pulling away slowly as their fingers, so inexperienced, nervously rested against the quilted comforter atop Jacob's bed.

"I'm sorry," he said awkwardly as he blinked, taking snapshots of the too-white wall, illuminated by the small lamp on his desk. "Sometimes you talk too much."

"You don't talk enough," she offered. "I never know what you're thinking or feeling…"

"Right now?"

Madeleine finally looked to him. "What?"

He returned her gaze. "Right now," he said with a small nod. "Do you want to know what I'm thinking right now?"

"Sure," she practically whispered.

"Okay," Jacob nodded again as he turned to face the wall again. "I'm thinking about your parents."

Madeleine's nose scrunched upward in disgust and she looked to Jacob in haste. "What? Why?"

"I didn't grow up around that, Mads. You know how my parents are. I don't think I've ever seen them kiss one another. They don't hold hands. They don't even really smile at one another."

"Jake…"

"It's fine. I just thought that's how parents were. You know, I thought maybe they were in love at some point but that being married means that goes away when you have kids. They loved me and that's what was important."

"Can I say something?"

"Of course," Jacob swallowed. "Yeah, whatever you have to."

Madeleine smirked and looked forward again. "It was magical growing up around my parents. Magical, Jake. And I want that. I want someone to look at me the way my dad looks at my mam. I think all girls should have that. And all boys for that matter. I want my brothers to marry girls as good as my mam. Girls that will take care of them and challenge them and love them when that may not be what they deserve."

"I want that. All of that," Jacob said, his voice practically shaking. "I want you, Mads."

She looked up to him, her tongue pressed firmly to the back of her front teeth as her eyes grew wide in both terror and sadness, but that of the overwhelming kind, that paints the cheeks in rouge and makes breathing just that much more rapid and uneven. "Jacob, please, you don't know what you're saying, alright?"

"No," he conceded, "for awhile, I didn't know. For awhile all I knew was that you were pretty and smart. I liked your smile and I liked how kind you were to everyone. But after awhile, I found I couldn't stop thinking of those things and the more I tried, the harder it became. And that night, when we…" His voice trailed off. "I thought that'd be the end. I thought I had a crush on you or that this was lust. And I felt guilty afterward. Not because I was shite at it, though I was and I'm sorry for that."

Madeleine chuckled and wiped away a tear. "S'okay."

"You deserved better than that. Than your dorm bed. And I left because I thought you didn't want me there but I stood outside of your door for the longest time, Mads. I thought I'd be gallant and invite myself back in. I just wanted to hold you and I wanted you to help me understand what I was feeling. I thought you were so embarrassed and that you wouldn't even want to be my friend but then the next morning you were so strong and we went to study and I could barely breathe on the way to the library and I just remembered thinking that this must be what love feels like because I hated the feeling but it was made better by you. And I was just really overwhelmed, I guess…"

"Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop talking, alright?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Sure." Then: "Sorry…"

Madeleine chuckled. "It's fine."

Silence settled between them, and it was Jacob who moved first, walking to his desk to turn off the lamp before heading for the closet to grab for what looked like a sleeping bag.

"Jake?" Madeleine tried.

"What?" he asked. "Is this not okay? I mean, you were going to stay here, right?"

"Yeah, I just...there's the bed…"

Slowly, he nodded, as if to grasp it all. "Yeah...yeah, there is."

"I mean, we don't have to."

"Have to?"

"Sleep in the bed together," she clarified. "I know it's small, I just think it'd be more comfortable than sleeping on the floor."

"You're not sleeping on the floor," he said indignantly.

Madeleine studied his face before giving him a similar nod. "Alright. But what if I want you to sleep on the bed with me?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I have felt very, very alone for the past week and I'd like to not feel alone for a night."

"Yeah, okay," Jacob nodded. "Whatever you want."

"If you don't want to—"

"No, I do."

"Do you have a shirt I can sleep in?"

"A shirt?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Anything. This skirt is hardly comfortable…"

"Here," he offered, handing her a sleep shirt that had three small buttons near the neck. "Mum washed it when I was home last week. Still smells of lavender..."

Madeleine took the shirt and brought it to her nose to smell it. He was right, and the scent was comforting, and the fabric made soft by it. "Turn around," she instructed quietly.

"What?"

"Turn around," she tried again, this time with a knowing smirk.

"Alright," Jacob sighed.

He obliged and when he turned around, he did his best not to focus on the shadows the moonlight was allowing Madeleine to make on the wall opposite the window. Somehow, her being exposed at a distance made him far more nervous than he ever had been before, even when her body was merely skin, electric against his own as the two moved and sighed in their search for ecstasy. He wanted her then, but needed her now, and fought the urge to reach out for her even as she allowed him to turn around and he watched her walk to his bed and get beneath the covers.

"Turn around," he returned.

"No way," Madeleine shook her head with a strong smile. "It doesn't work like that."

"What does that mean?" Jacob yelped. "Don't oogle me, Madeleine…" he teased, feigning covering himself up, which only caused Madeleine to drop her head down to his pillow and laugh.

"Jacob Rafferty, I have never known you to be modest."

"You're right," he said confidently. "My body's about the only thing I've got going for me."

"Ehhh, debatable," Madeleine said with a small shrug. As she did, Jacob got into bed beside her, but only after turning off the light and opening the window, allowing the early Autumn rain which had just begun to fall to hit the screen and splash down toward the flowerbeds below.

"Is this okay?" he whispered. He had just pulled up the covers, but Madeleine was almost sure he was talking about the way he was without a shirt. She could only nod, but it was her bold move that brought him closer, resting her hand on the curve of his stomach that turned into his hip.

"I'm sorry you felt so alone, Madeleine…"

"It's okay, Jake."

"No, it's not," he whispered back. "I have been trying to prove to you that I'm good enough and that I'm worthy and I just keep falling short."

"You don't have to prove anything to me, alright? You have things to prove to our son or daughter, but not to me."

"What do you think it'll be?"

"What?" Madeleine choked out.

"Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "My dad will want a boy."

Jacob let out a small chuckle, but his height, and the way in which Madeleine was now awkwardly laying upon his chest with all of her body curled into his side, caused the bed to shake. "Is it his decision?"

"He always gets his way."

"Well, I think you're wrong…"

"You always think I'm wrong," she joked, smacking Jacob's arm in reprimand.

"No...well, yeah, I do," he said, exhaling another small laugh. "But about your dad. I think he'll want a girl. You know, if he has a say…"

Madeleine studied Jacob. She stared at the way there was just the lightest bit of stubble forming a boundary around his lips, that of which were pink, and with a bottom lip far more plump than the top. His hair was beginning to muss, and the way in which he usually combed it off his forehead ceased to matter as the night had different plans and pieced the tresses separately, away from his hairline completely.

"Your dad loves you, Mads."

"I don't want to talk about my dad right now."

"Okay," he nodded. "Sorry."

For awhile, nothing more was said, and without looking to her, Jacob figured from the slow tempo of Madeleine's breathing, that she had already dozed off.

"What did he say to make you say that to me?" she asked, her words begging that he give her the truth despite the fact that previously, she seemed averse to it. At the sound of her voice, the darkness surrounding them became less harsh, bringing the room and its two occupants into a sharp focus.

"He didn't have to say much. I can just tell. He's worried about you. He wants what's best for you but he's scared. And I can't really blame him. I'm scared too."

Madeleine nodded, and in doing so, nuzzled into Jacob's chest, wrapping her arms more tightly around him. "Me too."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

x. Elle


End file.
